I discovered DivineCaroline yesterday and was over the moon to find somewhere I could write stuff. I don’t really know what it is I want to write. But I do know I want to write. That’s a good place to begin ...
I’ve just come off a roller coaster ride—bits of it were so much fun, other bits not so much. The ride didn’t come to a halt slowly, allowing you to gather the various parts of your stomach together and serenely step off. It kept going at full speed and on one particularly hilly part—the last hill in sight—it came crashing down, throwing me to the ground in a messy, bloody heap. Just the one hill to get over, and it didn’t make it. I didn’t make it. We didn’t make it. My embryo, all nicely snug in my tum for twelve whole days, didn’t make it.
Yes, a figurative ride, but no less scary, and zillions of times more emotional, stressful, worrisome. But here I am. I picked myself up, with the help of my husband. We dusted each other down, we remembered what it is we have together, why we love each other so much, and we remembered that life goes on and that this incident will not deter us from going on with it.
What’s this story about? It’s about Hope. Small word, huge concept. We’ve now done three IUI’s, 1 IVF, and that was our third ICSI. All so hopeful. All failed. None on the UK NHS, so all privately paid for. We’re up to about £30k, that’s nearly $50,000. It looks a lot worse in dollars. I wonder if that number will prevent us trying again.
There must be so many women like myself, desperate to get on the family ladder, desperate to be able to move off the Planning part of this site and delve into the parts that share stories about family life, family issues, rather than constantly being on the outside of that group. What do they do when their IVF fails? Do they curl up and cry in a corner? Do they get angry and scream at the top of their lungs for everyone to hear? Do they lock their feelings away in the little Numb box, just above the heart, until someone comes along and opens it up? I’ve done all of these things, and nothing helps me like sharing my thoughts and feelings with my Other Half. And so, he pulls me through, and I pull him through.
I guess this time was so much worse than all of the others, because the little embryo fought to survive for so long. The only egg to be collected (of three follicles, two empty), she then survived ICSI, fertilized, and was transferred successfully. She then made it through the next twelve days, today being the thirteenth. Tomorrow I would have carried out a pregnancy test. So close, so painfully close.
But onwards and upwards. My husband tells me the weather will be particularly—and uncharacteristically for London—snowy tomorrow, so I will be able to go out and build the biggest and best snowman London has seen. That will bring a smile to my face. I wish a Merry Christmas to anyone else out there who is trying right now for a baby, and hope your prayers are answered.